


How The Grump Stole Christmas

by impossiblesongs



Series: Post-Library River and Confrontational Twelve [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain Jack's stag parties are actually legendary okay recognize, F/M, Post-Library River & Confrontational Twelve what could go wrong, a problematic Christmas family fic is what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Children crying on Christmas,” her voice reaches out in the dark room, rising up and around, making a grasp for his heartstrings, and chilling him down to his bones. “Never could resist that, could you?”</i> – Doctor/River Christmas fic, what else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How The Grump Stole Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not my characters. This has been a disclaimer.  
>  **AN:** While my other fics are basically on hiatus for the time being ~~family gatherings and baking taking up all of my time and whatnot~~ I do still have an angsty-fluffy Doctor/River Christmas family fic for you this holiday season. I guess in a way I was inspired by film _How The Grinch Stole Christmas_ but not for the reasons you'd think, the actual reasons I won't get into. I must warn you, Twelve has decided to be a problematic fave in this fic, and there's babies, and spoilers, and a bit of angst - all hectic and chaotic Christmasy goodness, just for you. I honestly don't know how this fic was constructed, it was a bloody rollercoaster ride and I just went where the voices of the characters took me, so forgive me if it sounds a bit off. Anyway, here's me, sincerely hoping you all have a fantastic holiday season and a great new year.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

_I'm the Doctor. I've lived for over two thousand years, and not all of them were good. I've made many mistakes, and **it's about time I did something about that.**_

 

-          The Doctor (8.01 Deep Breath)

  

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

 

It had started with a whinny noise coming from his Tardis console speakers and then, slowly, the nattering spread straight onto his monitor. He banged at the thing a couple of times before he clued in on what the Tardis was doing: homing.

 

“Got something, Old Girl?” he’d asked his Tardis, at the time. She’d wheezed and groaned all across time and space before she actually landed. In a cupboard, of all places. He’d put Hitler in a cupboard once, such a landing was highly embarrassing.

 

Stepping out, he found himself in a room with a crying baby. He looked back at his Tardis, glaring and expecting answers for this. What was he to do with a crying baby, honestly?

 

“I’m not that kind of Doctor.” He told his blue box, but crept up the side of the crib anyway.

 

She was a young one, this wee girl currently screaming her head off. She paused at the sight of him, blinking up at him with blue eyes that looked all too familiar. He leaned in closer, over the railing of the crib, and sniffed at her head.

 

“Ginger.” He concluded. “When it grows out, anyway.”

 

“Children crying on Christmas,” her voice reaches out in the dark room, rising up and around, making a grasp for his heartstrings, and chilling him down to his bones. “Never could resist that, could you?”

 

“Melody Pond,” The Doctor near-whispers, turning from the crib and in the direction the voice came from.

 

“Oh, dear.” River takes in the sight of him. “You only use my name like that when you’re in a right sulk. All melancholic and soppy. What is it then?” She prods, though she doesn’t dare move an inch closer. He’s sure he’s glad for that. “What’s got you so…” and her nose wrinkles, trying to come up with a word. She settles on, “ _You_.”

 

The Doctor approaches her, peers down and tries to establish what exactly he’s managed to walk in on.

 

He can measure their time by small key points that, once tied together, are all telling. Her hair, for instance, is longer than he’s ever seen it. It reaches far past her mid back, closer to her waistline. Then there’s her posture. She’s comfortable, settled. There is visible tiredness, but no weariness. No vortex manipulator, no guns. She’s _homey_ , even smells like it.

 

“You’re old.” He says.

 

River snorts and rolls her eyes. “You’re one to talk, sweetie. But thanks for noticing.”

 

He takes a few steps back from her, from his wife, and deliberates his options. A baby, River, and him. Trying not to run to the first conclusion is much harder than he’d like it to be.

 

“Let’s go downstairs.” River interrupts his very important processing and motions to the drifting baby in the crib. “The Tardis is lulling her back to sleep so let her get some proper shut eye, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” He agrees readily, following her out of the room.

 

River leads him out, shutting the door to the baby’s room very carefully. Onward, stand two other doors, both shut, and then comes the stairs. They descend them, both quiet, one leading as the other follows.

 

She leads him through this unfamiliar house into the sitting room. Warm and lovely, it is, with a Christmas tree up and decorated already.

 

“Is she…” but he swallows the question down. His thoughts are trying to work past the tiny pink baby in the crib upstairs, all warm and fuzzy wrapped in her cozy little blanket.

 

It’s very delicate, this entire thing. His past self would probably fall out of a window facing this situation, stuttering and flailing about it as he does… did. At least he’s not that bad this go around. It’s comforting, in a way. He’s not that man anymore. Soldiering on, he asks straight-out. “Is she ours?”

 

River blinks at him. Her eyes narrow slightly, looking for something or waiting for some sort of recognition. Something. At least he knows her this far along, he thinks wryly.

 

“No.” is her answer.

 

He exhales, loudly. Not sure if the pang he feels in his hearts is regret or relief. He’ll figure it out later, once he’s alone. Now is not the time to go all soft and feely. Not here, not now.

 

A million questions bubble up in his head now that that’s over. Such as: _River, why is there a baby in your house?_ And: _River, why do you apparently live in this house that I have no recollection of?_ And: _River, why are you older than I’ve ever seen you before?_

 

“She is our son’s daughter.” River reveals to him then, so unexpectedly. So disastrously.

 

“River!” He exclaims, hurrying over towards her and covering her mouth over with his palm.

 

He stares into her eyes, wondering _Is she insane?_ Mouthing off like this is forbidden, surely she knows. She quirks an unimpressed eyebrow at his actions and the Doctor clutches his hand back, holds it to his chest protectively, as if burned by such a familiar gesture.

 

Truth is, his palm does feel scalding in a sense. The flesh feels warm… with her warmth.

 

“You can’t go on and on about this stuff at length,” he says, trying for scolding and turning up with gentle.

 

River smiles, as if she knows what his intent was and how she’s managed to twist him about with the least amount of effort. The smugness in her practically screams _like old times, then?_

 

Refusing to meet her eyes, for now, the Doctor decides to study at his hand. Looking down at the older flesh and rubbing at it, trying to get the warmth and the familiarity out of his system. He doesn’t want to appear visibly shaken so he turns his back on her, moving over towards the window and looking outside.

 

Quietly, he mulls over how maybe not everything changes with regeneration. He’s still running from her, in one way or another. His go-to instinct is still thinking hiding from his wife will be safer, easier. Though nothing is easy with River, nothing ever had been. He never had wanted to acknowledge that. Lying to himself as he lied to everyone else.

 

Suddenly, h finds himself repeating the phrase of a lifetime, or several lifetimes evidently.

 

“Spoilers,” he says, softly. “You of all people should know better than that.”

 

“Do lighten up, honey.” River replies, far more flippant about this than she should be. He turns back around to look – or glare – at her, reprimands of all sorts lie right at the tip of his tongue. But River merely shrugs, resolute to remain unbothered, explaining it all off with: “It’s Christmas.”

 

He breaks out in a grin, however it’s not a nice one.

 

“Seriously?” he answers, unimpressed. “That’s your reasoning for being so reckless? _Christmas_?”

 

“You really are a grump with this face, aren’t you?” River is literally beaming at him now. Her carefree grin only gives cause for his emerging scowl to deepen. “I can only imagine what you’ve mucked up in order for your sorry state to have turned up at my doorstep like this.”

 

It comes like a wave. First, the astonishment. How her words trigger at something, how they actually start to glimmer – a fire slowly catching – and sting. How he _cares_ , so much more than he’d like to admit, and how her mocking tone sways him towards the internalized anger he’s been so steady to avoid falling into.

 

“Let us get something straight,” with eyebrows raised, he marches right up to her, furious. “I did _not_ turn up at your doorstep, River Song!”

 

“Technically, no,” allows River, “but you are in my home nonetheless, sweetie.”

 

The Doctor had always found his wife infuriating, especially when she was right, and this face is turning out to be just as rash with her as the last one had been.

 

“If there were anywhere else in the world, there is where I’d be, not here!” he shouts. “But the Tardis has other plans! She always does! Trust me,” and the following words are out before he can stop them,” I did not _want_ to come here!”

 

River looks away, biting her lip. The quiet extends around them and he realizes that she’s waiting to see if the baby, _their_ granddaughter apparently, is going to wake up from all the ruckus.

 

Finally, once sure the baby is going to stay fast asleep, River turns all of her attention on him. He has the fleeting urge to step back, he’s long learned danger lurks within such attention. Bowtie would have done so, but he knows he won’t. He stays put.

 

“Well,” says River, “if you want to continue shouting I think it would be best that you leave. The sonic may still not do wood, but I’m sure you can manage to find the door anyway.”

 

He hears the intended slight loud and clear. In his head, he replays what he’s said, out loud in a fit of fury and straight to her face, and he cringes. “River….”

 

“Happy Christmas to you, Doctor.” River smiles, cool and reserved. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and get the hell out?”

 

She waits for him to turn, to start walking, to get out. He doesn’t quite do that. Instead, he stares at her, calculating whether or not it would help to apologize. If it will do any good at all. Words once said cannot be taken back and River is River, after all. He knows she won’t back down, not now. Not when he’s so obviously created a mess of this, of them, on Christmas of all days.

 

“Well?” River’s grown impatient with his idling. “Go on, get out.”

 

The Doctor shakes his head slowly, realizing he’s not in the mood to back down either.

 

“No.”

 

“No?” she repeats, highly suspicious. “What are you playing at?”

 

He shrugs and pushes his hands into his coat. “Like you said, it’s Christmas.”

 

“And you just said you didn’t want to be here in the first place,” she reminded.

 

“Now I’ve changed my mind.” He counters. “I do that.”

 

“You’ve got no obligation,” she assures, “not to me anyway.”

 

“Liar.” The word comes spilling from his lips easily, calling her out like his previous face never could.

 

“Excuse me?” River blurts.

 

She’s at a loss, he can tell. Clearly she’s not used to him being this challenging to their own dynamic. No, no, no. This wife of his is used to his old face. The young one who would turn and walk out on her when things got too confrontational. The one who flies off in his Tardis when she tells him to go, even though deep down he knows she wants him to stay. The one who runs at first chance. There’s a stability built on him being the unreliable one. He was good at that, he’ll admit. This go around though… his feet are always planted flat on the ground when they land. He has less urge to flee and more inclination to finish what he’s started. Of course, it doesn’t always work out that way. He’s not the hero in this story. In fact, thinking on it now, this face is simply ballsy in ways his previous self could never afford to be.

 

The Doctor crosses the short distance between the both of them, towering over her, his wife, and, very slowly, he meets her eye to eye.

 

“Liar.” He names her once again, voice quiet but surer of his accusation than he has been about anything in his life for a very, very long time. “I have obligations, always have, and to you especially. You know that, as do I. So, why do you always pretend it doesn’t bother you when I ignore them?”

 

River’s eyes widen at his directness. Her mouth opens and shuts, many times, but she still finds no proper answer to give him.

 

“River,” he says, voice softer, reassuring even.

 

His hand reaches up to cup her cheek, much more out of habit than of anything else. Just like he used to. Maybe that will help tether together whatever remains have fragmented with time. This gesture, he hopes, will drag together memories upon memories, lighting up the misshapen life they’ve shared and all it has amounted to.

 

They’ve been from bad to worse, sure, but in his opinion, there had been insurmountable good there. That alone made everything worthwhile. He used to see that in her, that unshakable belief she carried for the both of them for so long. It used to scare him. He’s not sure what he sees when she looks back at him now. The realization sets that if she were not to see it, them, in that way anymore, it would break his hearts.

 

“Why must you always hide the damage?” he wonders, has wondered, only he’s just finally asking about it out loud and face to face. His thumb catches a tear as it trickles down her cheek and she smiles. Sad and honest. _Finally_.

 

“Because you always seem to be at the root of it, sweetie.”

 

He can’t help agree with her. “That I do.”

 

“Tea?” she says, pulling away from him and wiping at her own fallen tears.

 

“7 sugars.”

 

River raises her brow in silent judgment. “Seriously?”

 

“Shut up.” He replies automatically, suddenly unsure of how the words will be taken, but River has the makings of a smile on her face as she goes off in the direction of the kitchen so he assumes she didn’t take it too wrong.

 

With one last glance at the Christmas tree, he follows after her.

 

 

*

 

 

Once they are sat, each with their own cups, River watches him with fascinated amusement from behind her cup. He dumps the sugars in one by one, stirs, and looks up at her as he takes a drink.

 

“So,” he says conversationally, setting down his cup and playing with the handle, “this is the first time you’ve come across me with this face, I take it?”

 

River hums into her tea. “What makes you say that?”

 

“The fact that I take this many sugars surprised you.” Says the Doctor, leaning back into his chair. “You don’t know this face.”

 

“That is a rather good guess, Doctor.” Admits River. “However, perhaps I’ve just never offered you tea before. Maybe you don’t stick around long enough for me to do so.”

 

The Doctor considers her. “Fine then, have it your way. Play coy. If you won’t tell me about this face, then what about the others?” he questions. “How far back are you?”

 

River indulges him the smallest of smiles, an air of triumph by the way of it.

 

“Don’t do that face!” he points. “You’re the one who’s offering up spoilers in the name of the Christmas spirit! Besides, it’s not like I won’t know about it if you’re meddling with previous faces.”

 

“Meddling?” repeated River. “Is that what you call it?”

 

“You go in and make my life all a jumble!” he cracks a cynical smile. “So, yes, dear. That is the word I’ve chosen for the likes of you.”

 

“Fine,” she allows, not pleased at all by his words, “but, whether you chose accept it or not, never once have I meddled without your consent. It was you who sent me back, after all.”

 

He nods at that, shoulders hunching. “Indeed.”

 

The Doctor chews on that for a bit, taking another sip of tea. However unsettling this meeting is proving to be, how ill-fitted, he does bask in her company. It used to be all banter and sexy shenanigans, but what else can he do about it now? Pretending to be different than he is would be lying, and he’s done with that. Besides, didn’t River accept every him that turned up on her? He decides to test that.

 

“I’m not the man you married.” he says, eyes trained on her face and the expressions that fleet across it. Sadness, yes, a bit of mourning, but he can make out no regret there. When she looks upon him with those familiar warm eyes he knows she’s glad to see him, even if he is a bit different.

 

“You are.” She affirms. “You may think you’re not, but you are. Deep down, I _see_ you.”

 

He closes his eyes, looks away, and remembers asking Clara to do the same. When he changed and became this new man. This wife of his, though. She does exactly that. Even after his big mouth had gone and done insult to injury, she’s never lost sight of him. One has to appreciate that, and what better time than now?

 

“I married a sulky, old timer.” River continues, a bit too smug for his taste. “His true self being the grumpy granddad type, no matter how young he appears. And you are absolutely more trouble than you are worth, sweetie, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

 

He clears his throat noisily, working past the emotions building up. He’s not in the mood to play the weepy sentimentalist, damn the woman and her abilities to evoke the most uncalled for emotions in him.

 

“Obviously, you wouldn’t dare try.” he cracks a grin, even if it is a bit forced. “You wouldn’t have the wee one upstairs to look after if you did.”

 

“True.”

 

“And the son we apparently have together.”

 

River nods once.

 

“Whose name I assume you are not going to tell me?”

 

She grins. “Would you really want to know?”

 

“I don’t know.” He answers truthfully, drinking up the last of his tea. “Where is this son you say is mine, anyway? Leaves his daughter with you on Christmas holiday often?”

 

“He’s out with Captain Jack right now.” River reveals and the Doctor promptly chokes on air.

 

“Oh, _god_ , no! River, why?! Why would you let him go off with that man?” he sputters for a few moments. “Th...that is just bad parenting!”

 

River tosses her head back and laughs, the ringlets of her hair coming alive with the movement, swishing this way and that. They look so soft and golden. Oh, how he wants to reach out and tangle his fingers through them.

 

“What business has he with Harkness?” the Doctor asks, focusing on his cup to distance himself from his previous thoughts. He starts twirling his empty cup around on the table distractedly.

 

“Not that it is any of your business,” Says River, and makes a stop to his cup twirling before he breaks it. Her pinky runs over his thumb as she grabs for it and a shiver works its way down his body involuntarily. River eyes him curiously as she places the cup out of his reach. “But,” she resumes to answering his question, “Jack introduced our son to his future fiancé.”

 

The Doctor raises both brows at that. “Future? So it’s not happened yet?”

 

“He’s more like his father than he’ll ever admit.” Says River, fondly.

 

“And yet a baby lies upstairs.”

 

“Oh, our son knows who she is.” River assures him. “He’s met her at various ages. He’s not as squeamish of foreknowledge as you are.”

 

The Doctor bites his lip, not sure if he should worry over how this apparent family of his is approaching such things. Then a thought occurs to him.

 

“Jack is not throwing the stag party is he?” River purses her lips very tightly and he can only shake his head disapprovingly. “You do know those will go on forever, don’t you? Once you let him start those parties will go on and on and on…”

 

“And thankfully, with a dad like his, he can go to all of them in one night.” She says, as if reciting.

 

The Doctor crosses his arms across his chest, “Does he at least ask for a lift or has he inherited his mother’s knack for commandeering my ship?”

 

River chuckles. “My love, may I remind you that you very much commandeered your own ship all on your lonesome. He’s cut from the same cloth, just a tiny bit better than you on account of the centurion genes he’s got.”

 

The Doctor cannot keep to himself the laughter that bubbles up. “Centurion genes? Seriously?

 

“Did I stutter?”

 

He has to admit, he does like the sound of that. Slowly, they both quiet, and the question that is most obvious strikes him.

 

“Spoilers unspoiled for Christmas.” He nods slowly, looking up at River and _seeing_ her too. “So who got you out of the Library?”

 

River looks as if she’s about to cry. Then she clears her throat and repeats, “Cut from the same cloth, just a tiny bit better than you.”

 

At his silence, she sighs, “It’s not your fault. You should be proud.”

 

The Doctor nods. “I’m glad you’re back… that at least someone is keeping you safe.”

 

River angers at his words. “God, you really need to stop with that ego and get over it. This isn’t a contest between you and your son, whom you don’t even know yet, by the way, so you can stop making comparisons.”

 

She gets up and takes the cups to the kitchen sink, tossing them in with such force that they really should break, only all they do is clang against each other, echoing louder than is necessary.

 

The Doctor moves up from where he’s seated and stands beside the chair.  “River, I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“No?” River questions. “You’re alluding to not being able to keep me safe yourself, as if that was your job.”

 

“Well, wasn’t it?” he shouts. “You’re _my_ wife! Mine, and I just left you there.” He grins, and quotes, “Like a book on a shelf.”

 

It takes her a moment to catch up to his meaning. Trenzalore. The last he saw of her, her echo. That does it. She’s properly cross now.

 

“Oh, you sentimental idiot!” She rages, moving past him and back into the sitting room. “I didn’t even know you could hear me!”

 

He follows after her. “So you wouldn’t have said it, had you known?”

 

“I would have phrased it differently.” She admits. “You hold onto things, sweetie. Those things hurt you. I was only speaking my mind and the truth is, you don’t need to hear everything”

 

“But I want to know things!” he cries, so very desperately. “I want to know you, all of you, and you just hide it all away! All the time, hiding!”

 

“Like you don’t do it too!”

 

There’s a shriek from upstairs, silencing the both of them. The baby’s cries slowly gain in volume and River shakes her head. Her shoulders droop, a sight more worrisome to him than he ever remembers it being.

 

“Maybe we’re both trying too hard at something here.” She says, wincing at a particular piercing wail coming from upstairs.

 

“Perhaps we’ve tired too much to try at the hard stuff. Excuse me.”

 

He takes off, rushing up the stairs before River can have any say in it. He pushes into the room he landed in and finds the child in the crib, tossing and turning angrily, screaming to be comforted. He goes forward and reaches in.

 

“What are you doing?!” River exclaims from behind him, short breathed.

 

“Dad skills.” He replies, lifting the child into his arms as carefully as he can. “I do have them.”

 

She squirms in his arms, this tiny creature. Angry and restless. Somehow, with River watching, he feels like he should prove something, anything.

 

“What’s your name?” he asks the infant. Her only resolve is to scream her head off. “Shush,” he says, “You’re all bark and no bite, I know your game. Takes one to know one.”

 

The baby quiets in his arms a fraction but not before making a reach for his nose and pulling obscenely hard. He thinks he hears River having to muffle her laughter but doesn’t let it distract him.

 

“Oh, ouch, yes.” He manages to shake the tiny fist away by moving his head from side to side. “Okay, that I may have deserved. Outing your tactics on those you will use them on daily, not very nice of me. I apologize.”

 

The child gurgles nonsensically and a kind smile breaks over his face. Genuine happiness starts spreading and filling him up in ways he’s not felt in ages. His hearts feel as if they’re trying to climb out of his throat and he’s all teary eyed when he glances back at River.

 

“Susan,” he waits for a confirmation from River, and when she nods, he manages to swallow down the lump in his throat before giving his attention back to baby Susan. “That’s a mighty fine name.”

 

Susan coos.

 

“You’re welcome.” He sniffs, “Would you mind terribly if I talked to your Gran now, in private. Boring, adult things. You’ll find it all a bore, trust me. I can do something spectacular to your room to keep you occupied, if you’d like.”

 

Susan gives her answer and the Doctor puts her back down in her crib, retrieves his sonic, and points to her ceiling. Slowly, her ceiling breaks out in images of calming supernovas. After several moments, Susan cackles appreciatively and the Doctor backs away, taking River’s hand in his as he leads her out of the baby’s room.

 

“Susan,” he says softly, once the door is shut. “I have another granddaughter named Susan.”

 

“Yes.” River stands a bit out of place now, after all that. “Doctor, what you said before, about us being too tired to… to try. What exactly did you mean?”

 

“To try at the hard stuff, is what I said.” He corrected, moving closer to his wife and pushing the long hair trailing down her front over her shoulder. “I was merely suggesting we have a go at easy, for once.”

 

River shivered a bit when his fingers grazed her neck. “And what, pray tell, classifies as easy in this relationship?”

 

The Doctor smirks, “You know very well how to shut me up, River Song. That was always the easy part.”

 

River catches his meaning and a wicked glee catches her eyes. “Here I thought you’d never ask, sweetie.”

 

She leans closer, into his touch, daring to run her fingers through those grey hairs that lie atop his head and grinning when he seems just as riled by her touch as she is to his. This, they could do.

 

She curls into this new body of his and one arm snakes around her waist possessively to hold her there, meaning to tug her closer – as if it were possible. A warmth starts to settle in his gut and the Doctor leans forward himself, ready for his wife to snog him silly, when the door downstairs is heard opening and closing.

 

“Mum, I’m back.” Calls an unfamiliar voice.

 

“Damn.” River huffs, the warmth of her breath hitting his lips. She untangles herself from him. “Stay here,” she orders, “and no peeking. In fact, go keep Susan company. She’s sure to be waiting for something else to pop up besides bloody supernovas.”

 

“River!” the Doctor makes to grab at her again, but she’s out of his reach. He watches on, feeling all too warm and far too riled up, his own blood is singing in his ears. At the moment, he is only capable of gaping at her while she flees.

 

“I’ll be but a minute!” she promises. “Go on, shoo!”

 

 

*

 

 

“And this next one,” the Doctor flicks the button on his screwdriver, changing the image casted on Susan’s ceiling. “This is your great-granddad.”

 

The image of Rory was bright and illuminated the room. He was smiling and happy. Amy took that picture, if he remembers it right.

 

“You’re lucky you don’t have his nose.” The Doctor comments to Susan, flicking the sonic again. This time the image that pops up makes him grin, wide and a bit silly. It was a picture of Mels that he’d coaxed from the Ponds a very long time ago.

 

“That there, is your lovely grandmamma.”

 

Susan makes some noises of protest but he hurries to explain. “Different face, same person.” Susan doesn’t seem to be buying it. He shrugs. “Guess you had to be there.”

 

“How are you casting those?” the voice of a man interrupts their nostalgia tour and the Doctor glances towards the now open door.

 

There’s a young man leaning against the doorframe, not too young but older than the Doctor expected. He has dark brown hair, nearly black, curly at the ends. He has a long, thin face and glasses sit perched on his nose. His nose….

 

“Now _he_ has Rory’s nose.” The Doctor whispers to Susan quickly before addressing the man fully. “The Tardis.” He answers, giving a nod to where the Tardis had parked herself. “She’s helping me project the images.”

 

The man moves a few steps over, peering into the blue box’s open doors and smiling. He looks back at the Doctor with mischievous, knowing eyes. “You’re still trying out the so-called minimalism, _not_ magician, desktop then?”

 

The Doctor smirks, looking back to his granddaughter. “Do you believe this?” he asks the infant. “Your father is proving to be the exact replica of his mother. How am I supposed to get anything done in this universe with that hanging over my head now?”

 

The unnamed man, his son admittedly, laughs. Full of mirth and not bothered at all by the Doctor’s tone. It gives the Doctor hope that maybe somewhere in the future he is not only dropping in, but _part_ of this strange, seemingly-already-happened-without him family.

 

“So, did you mother actually name you or is she just not telling me to cover up for the fact that she forgot?”

 

“Oh,” the young man grins, “from what she tells me, you are nowhere near ready to access any of that data. Nice try.”

 

The Doctor scoffs, “She’s offered up all kinds of spoilers tonight. I highly doubt the universe is holding its breath waiting for another one to drop just so it can implode. It would have done so already.”

 

“It’s good of you to entertain Susan for as long as you have,” says this stranger son of his, “but mum is requesting you downstairs, something about helping hang the mistletoe.”

 

The Doctor sees the massive deviation of their conversation for what it is, but fine, he’ll bite. “Is that right?”

 

“Listen, please don’t make me any more a part of this than she already has.” His son begs of him, the calmness the man extracts with his plain and simple gestures as he turns the situation in his favor is something the Doctor marvels at. “You and mum and your adult rendezvous should be kept to yourselves. It’s very disturbing, even for a man of my years.”

 

The Doctor wonders just how many years his son has passed but knows better than to push. Now is not the time to be questioning the young man. Besides, he’s been trained far too well.

 

Rising, he tosses the sonic at his son, “Just point and think, show her anything you want.”

 

“Will do,” his son nods.

 

The Doctor finds River awaiting him at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Mistletoe?” he inquires and she grins. “That boy,” he points in the direction he’d just come from, “you’ve sent him up to proposition me and he is absolutely shameless in his efforts to bind wills to his way. While his daughter watched, no less!”

 

River’s laughter is instantaneous. She tugs the Doctor closer by his coat lapels and he goes willingly. “Just like his father.”

 

At that comment, the free-for-all rule of the night pertaining to spoilers starts to nag at him rather insistently. He has to ask, he just does.

 

_So much for easy._

 

“It was bowtie then, right? His son.”

 

River rolls her eyes. “Daft man, no matter what face brought him into this world, he is _your_ son. But if you need your ego stroked….”

 

The Doctor kisses her quickly. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I know he’s mine, I know, it’s just…”

 

“Yes!” River hisses, looking at him ever so exasperatedly. “Fine! It was you, with this face you have now. Long story short, you were with him when you got me out, both of you. Both my boys.” She tenderly places her palm up against his cheek. “Now kiss me properly, honey. Or I’ll murder you with the Christmas tree.”

 

An odd second or two passes before the Doctor shrugs, “Fair enough.”

 

He swoops in and kisses her. Deep and toe curling and River clings, curves right into his body like she belongs there. Like she fits, has always fitted. It’s at that moment he finally accepts, she always will.

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he pulls back suddenly, caught off guard by another question that pops into his head. They both pant heavily for another few agonizing moments before he gets anything else out.

 

“If all this is true, how come you didn’t know how many sugars I take in my tea?”

 

River groans, “Because you make the tea around here!”

 

She then promptly drags him back to her and shuts him up for the rest of the evening.

 

Or at least until there’s another knock at their door. It’s Jack, half naked with a Santa hat propped on his head and a big sack of Christmas presents hanging over his shoulder.

 

“Ho, ho, ho.” Jack says happily.

 

The Doctor shuts the door in his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had a lot of fun writing this and I'm not sure if I'll just continue this in little snippets here and there as another series, but that aside, Happy holidays everybody. :D
> 
>  
> 
> ~~BTW, I had no control over Jack Harkness, he just showed up at the end. He does that. What the hell? It's Christmas~~


End file.
